He was dressed in a plain blue two-piece suit. His hair was almost completely gray and he wore dark-framed glasses. Denise recognized him as the colleague from Columbia University, but a changed man.

He was shrunken by a few inches; his shoulders dipped forward and his clothes looked baggy. His skin was gray. His eyes were creased so badly that he looked like a victim waking up from major surgery. They were rimmed with red and there was a strange depthless quality to his stare, as if his body was going through the motions, but his soul or heart, or whatever it was, had flown.

‘Hello, Dr Goldenberg.’

His hand reached out and grasped hers. It was soft but it gripped her hand tightly and didn’t let go. His eyes rose, almost as if he’d seen a glint of hope.

‘Dr Levene,’ he said. ‘Thank you so much for coming by. On the phone, you said you had news?’

Denise stood with her hand gripped by his, looking into his eager eyes. ‘I’m so very sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve got some news, but it’s not necessarily positive.’

‘What is it?’

‘Please, could we go inside?’

‘I understand, of course,’ said Dr Goldenberg. His eyes were now trying to read hers. ‘Tell me, please.’

Denise pulled her hand from his. ‘I wanted to say how sorry I am. I just want to say it.’

‘I appreciate it,’ he said. ‘We can talk all about it later, but just tell me, what have you got?’

‘Of course.’

Dr Goldenberg’s mouth creased with some memory of his daughter. ‘Abby is…’ He stopped mid-sentence and Denise watched as his whole face contorted in silent pain.

He brought himself under control.

‘Please — come in, Dr Levene.’

They walked through the house. It was quiet and felt unlived in. Goldenberg switched the light on in the living room and motioned impatiently towards a seat.

‘What have you found?’

Denise pulled out a folder. ‘Nothing conclusive. Last night, the NYPD arrested four men. Leo Lukanov, Patrick Ellery, Thomas Ocksborough and Raymond Hicks.’ She showed him the photographs.

‘The four men who attacked Abby?’

‘Yes. I went to speak to them.’

‘You?’

‘I thought they might know something. They came after me.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Were you hurt?’

‘No. I was frightened,’ said Denise, ‘but I wasn’t hurt. The cops got there real quick.’

‘Have they told you where Abby is?’

‘No. We can’t even be sure they’re involved, but something spooked them. Why come after me, try to frighten me, if they didn’t have some connection to Abby?’

‘Could you try to tell me what happened?’

‘I went to see these four men with officers from the Hate Crime Unit. Next day, they came after me.’

‘There’s more,’ he said. ‘I heard the news.’

‘There may be a link.’

‘With the murderer of David Capske? Please don’t tell me that.’

‘Lukanov bought the barbed wire that was used in the murder of David Capske.’

‘You think my Abby could have been a victim?’

‘There’s going to be an investigation. Homicide will look into it. It means that she’s going to get more time.’

‘That is something.’

‘Not much, I know.’

‘I appreciate it, Dr Levene. I know this is not easy. Do they know why these men might have been targeting people?’

‘It could be something to do with anti-Semitism,’ said Denise. ‘But we can’t be sure, yet. I’ll keep you informed.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Could I see Abby’s room?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Anything specific?’

‘No, I just want a sense of her.’

Inside Abby’s room, Denise felt the horror of her disappearance again. Life was made up of the tiniest fragments. Memories, loves, events. Denise saw the pop posters, the half-naked men, her wide-ranging intellectual interests, her passion for music, her adoration of her father, her love of her mother, her independence, her eccentricity, her karate skills, riding skills, ballet.

Denise sat down in Abby’s room, the drapes drawn, and opened her diary from a year earlier. She had no idea what she was doing or why, but she felt unable to leave without engaging as much as she could, for an ex-colleague she barely knew and a girl called Abby, whom she knew even less, but for whom, for some reason, she felt responsible.

North Manhattan Homicide

March 9, 11.12 a.m.

Harper left the interrogation room and slumped down in the darkened observation room. Denise watched him closely. ‘We need more time,’ she said. ‘That’s all. He’s tough. You should’ve seen Abby’s room. She’s just a kid, Tom. If Leo killed her, we’ve got to find out where she is. The question is, if.’

‘You don’t seem convinced?’ said Harper.

Denise moved across to the window. She prodded it with her forefinger. ‘I hate him, Tom, I hate everything about him. He’s a vicious little racist, a bully, a coward. He’s everything I hate about people wrapped up in one ugly package, but he’s not bright, is he? He’s not got an organized mind.’

‘I’ve been thinking the same thing.’

‘We’ve got to find another way to get him to talk.’

Harper nodded. They both stared into the small interview room as two more detectives entered and started going through the routine. One prowling, one sitting. One getting close, the other keeping in the background with threats chipping away at the nerves.

Harper leaned on to his elbows and stared into the room. Eddie entered the observation room, carrying three coffees. ‘He’s a hard nut, this one,’ Eddie said. ‘A real thick skin. Or maybe just real thick.’

Harper took his coffee. ‘Thanks, Eddie. Anything more from his apartment?’

‘Shitloads of racist crap. Shitloads of it. But nothing to tie him to Capske. Not yet anyway. Forensics will be days going through all his stuff.’

‘He’s part of some organization, though. You find anything?’

‘He’s definitely part of something, but it seems he’s a pretty small cog within it. We’ve got the other three guys locked up in the cells. They’re all scared of something, so no one’s saying anything. I don’t know who’s leading this operation, but they are real spooked.’

‘Lukanov hasn’t given you a single name,’ said Denise.

‘Why do you think it is, Denise? Maybe he’s just as scared as the rest.’

‘Could be. We’ve all seen it before. Gangs don’t dare rat people out. I think he knows he’s got to stay quiet.’

‘There’s plenty of vicious hate gangs in prison. He talks, gives people up, they’re going to hurt him bad.’

‘Yeah, maybe, but I think it’s something else,’ said Denise.

‘What?’ said Harper.

‘There’s someone pulling the strings. Someone he’s really terrified of.’

‘That’s my thought too,’ said Harper. ‘Which leads me to something I’ve been thinking since the arrest.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Eddie.

‘Read Lukanov’s record. Every time he’s been arrested, it’s for some group attack. He’s one of those men who get brave when it’s five to one. I just don’t see him as a lone wolf, which means that it’s unlikely he killed Capske. Denise, what do you think?’

‘It’s difficult to call, Tom. He could be capable of operating alone, but I’d agree with you. Most likely scenario, Lukanov is only violent within the group.’

‘Another thing. He didn’t want to get involved in the alley. He kept back.’ Harper stood up. He drank down his coffee and took another look at Leo Lukanov through the glass. Lukanov was unshaven and tired. He’d taken off his denim shirt and was wearing a white tank top.

Harper pointed at Lukanov. ‘Look at his arms and hands. There isn’t a single scratch mark on his skin. You ever tried to work with barbed wire? The killer was working with barbed wire in the dark with a victim. It’s not evidence, but if it’s not Lukanov, then whoever it is, he’s still out there.’

Harper took Eddie to the side of the investigation room. ‘I want you to look into something for me.’